


Part 4: Barriers

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Series: Restrooms Are For The Wicked [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Awkwardness, Crack, Episode: s02e09 Point Blank, Episode: s03e07 Taking Account, Friendship, Protective Diana Berrigan, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: Neal prefers to tell Peter when he needs to go, andnotany of these people.
Series: Restrooms Are For The Wicked [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874236
Kudos: 10
Collections: WC²





	1. Diana

Neal sat down in Diana’s car, letting the leather interior soothe his tense back. 

“Shouldn’t you get my anklet first?” he remarked, remembering Burke’s instruction. 

“Nice try, Neal. I’m not leaving you alone at home _again_. You need some company, Caffrey,” Berrigan replied.

He nodded. He couldn’t argue with that. 

Then, he shifted in his seat, as he by this point needed the restroom _._ He hadn’t gone before he went after Fowler because _well_ , he didn’t need to go then. It was one of the things not considered in his anger. Along with the possibility of Peter intervening...thankfully. 

He wished Peter was the one driving instead of Diana. With him, Neal would’ve mentioned it right away, and asked him to stop somewhere. With Agent Berrigan, that was _so_ not happening. 

“You okay back there?” Diana asked, noticing the consultant’s frowning and squirming. 

“Just peachy. Handcuffs are _super_ comfortable,” he answered fairly sarcastically. 

“If it’s really that bad, you can switch to having them in front of you,” she offered. 

“Yeah, gonna need a hand for that,” Neal pointed out. 

“Come on Caffrey, I know you can get out of handcuffs yourself, don’t deny it. Just remember to re-fasten your seatbelt before you click them back on your hands,” she countered with a smirk. 

Of course, Agent Berrigan was right in her assumption. Some rustling indicated that the passenger in the back was eventually free.

A click of the seatbelt and two clicks of metal later, Neal sighed. 

“Much better,” he smiled through the rear-view mirror. When he was certain she had her eyes back on the road, he slipped his cuffed hands between his legs, squeezing as hard as he could. 

It would suffice. It _had_ to. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The traffic continued to move at snail speed. Every time the car inched forward, it jostled some very unfortunate areas of Neal’s anatomy. 

So, he began tapping his feet. Just one, but it was visible enough. 

“You know Peter won’t send you to prison for this, right?” Diana reminded him. 

“Wouldn’t blame him if he did,” he muttered. 

“You didn’t shoot anyone...and you heard Peter mention ‘bureau response’ right?” she checked. 

Neal nodded. It was the only thing he could focus on at that time. Peter’s voice. 

“You work for the FBI, Fowler’s OPR. Threatening violence against a fellow operative isn’t grounds for an attempted murder charge. It’s handled internally, and Hughes will understand your motives. He’s tough, but reasonable. Loud bark, but very little bite,” 

“His rhetoric can sting a little, but sure, he’s a cute little puppy dog of a man,” Caffrey joked. 

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to be nervous,” Diana attempted to reassure him.

“Who says I’m nervous?” he objected. 

“Your immediate denial of being nervous for _one_ ,” she commented.

“I’m not _nervous_ , I just...” Neal closed his eyes in frustration. “doesn’t matter” he shrugged it off.

“ _What_ doesn’t matter?” Berrigan prompted, concerned.

He sighed. “I need to use the restroom,” he told her. 

Diana nodded. “Well, I think that might matter a little to the cleanliness of my seats,” she pointed out. “Duly noted, I’ll pull over somewhere, soon as something opens up,” 

“Thanks,” Neal said quietly. 

  
“Hey; I’m not letting anyone get hurt on my watch. Agent or otherwise,” the Lady Suit emphasised.

“Really not a good time for there to be a tree on the dashboard,” he scoffed and winced. 

“If I find a bigger one, I’ll let you know,” Diana promised. Neal sent a weak glare back at her.

* * *

The rustling sound returned, which made Diana turn around. But fortunately, the escape artist was not escaping. Merely using them to apply more pressure. 

“Don’t worry, Berrigan. I don’t think I’m in the best condition to run anywhere,” Neal panted. 

  
“Hey, I don’t believe that for even a second, okay? Don’t sell yourself short; I _know_ you can run. You’re not _that_ far gone, we haven’t been in traffic for that long, it just feels like it. You’ll make it,” she assured him, patting his knee.

“You know it’s not easy to believe _that_ when you bring it up like that. If you’re so sure, why wouldn’t I already know?” Caffrey pondered.

“Because you’re dramatic and your eyeballs are floating; any non-dramatic questions?” Diana explained.

He had none. “Just take some deep breaths, we’re almost there,” she advised.

“Almost wher..” his question got drowned as the car jolted forward and turned to the right out of the traffic jam and onto an exit that seemed to appear out of nowhere. If Neal believed in miracles, which he didn’t...this definitely counted as one.

* * * * * * * * * *

They ended up parked outside a small gas station. Diana opened the car, and assisted Caffrey’s exit from the vehicle. The man still had his cuffed hands between his legs, due to the lack of mobility, and thus less _humiliating_ methods of containment. 

She removed the cuffs and pointed at her gun. 

“You try anything before _or_ after, you get whacked in the shoulder, Capisce?” Berrigan instructed, though with soft eyes, not in the mood for playing bad cop. 

“Absolutely,” Caffrey nodded obediently, basking in the feeling of his hands in his pockets, clenching for dear life.

They walked slowly but steadily into the building. 

Neal noticed Diana had a small bill folded up in her left hand. In any other circumstance, he’d try and slip it out and steal it; _possibly_ returning it, depending on whether she pointed her gun at him. 

Agent Berrigan went determinedly to the cash register throwing a pack of gum and a five-dollar bill at the guy behind it. 

“Keep the change. Where’s the bathroom?” she asked sharply. 

Neal smiled sheepishly, making it clear she wasn’t asking for herself.

He handed her the bathroom key, and she hurried away with her arrestee.

* * *

The bathroom had a window in it. 

“I’ve already chased after you once today, I take it that’ll be enough?” Diana smiled at him, already having an idea of the answer. 

“Sure. There’s no drapes to swing on,” he grinned back.

She opened the door for him, and locked it from the outside.

Neal sprang across the room to get in front of the toilet, unbuckling and unzipping audibly and efficiently. 

Even more audible was the ecstatic emptying that followed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Feelin' better?” the Lady Suit asked the visibly more relaxed con man who unlocked the door. 

“You know that I am,” Neal confirmed, blushing. 

She patted him on the back and cuffed him, once they reached the car.

Diana would’ve expected him to be quiet after what happened with Fowler, not after what happened in the bathroom. As she was proven wrong, she turned on the music, allowing the awkwardness to subside. 

* * *

Peter looked at the clock, spotting the pair exiting the elevator on the 21st floor. 

“Traffic couldn’t have been that bad,” he remarked. 

“Oh, it _was_ ,” Neal assured him, raising his eyebrows emphatically.

“He really had to _go_ ,” Diana explained. 

Burke frowned, not following. She gestured behind her. 

“Oh; let me guess, he got cagey about it?” 

Berrigan chuckled in astonishment. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

“That’s why Neal snuck off, on his first case at the airport,” Peter elaborated.

  
“He didn’t want to tell _me, couldn’t_ tell you,” Diana pieced it together. “Maybe the detour could actually be helpful,” 

  
“Then I’d go shopping for a nice jacket, he’ll start slipping you notes,” Burke informed her. She raised an eyebrow, curious as to how he’d phrase said notes.

Neal suddenly appeared with his nose in a file.

“The Almiranta was a sunken ship...” he recited. It was the file he’d crafted with Mozzie.

Peter noticed he was averting his eyes from Diana. 

“Neal, stop being so dramatic and look your colleague in the eyes,” he requested, huffing bemusedly. 

Caffrey managed, with an added awkward smile. 

“It’s fine, Caffrey. We’ve all been caught short at least once in our lives. It happens to the best of us. Even convicted bond forgers,” Berrigan assured him. 

Neal fiddled with the hair on the back of his head, finally able to laugh at himself. 

“Don’t forget alleged art thief,” he added, going back to hide among the files.

“He’ll get over it,” Peter noted. 

  
“Get over _what_ boss?” Diana asked, shrugging. She winked kindly at Caffrey, who smiled, confidently this time.


	2. Sara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _when_ was right now, the _why_ was smoothies.The bigger question was _how_...

It wasn’t too difficult for Neal to figure out how to spend millions of dollars. His tastes were expensive, and he’d lived in the city long enough to know where the zeroes on the price-tags were the most plentiful.

You need imagination to be an artist, after all. Even if few of his works were originals...he also used his imagination to get into the mindset of the artist. The when, the why, the how. 

_When_ was right away. Why; was to get Sara’s money back, and the _how_ was by buying stuff. As much as possible, worth as much as possible.

“Why would we _ever_ need four helicopters?” she asked. 

“Well, one for me and you, one for El and Peter, Jones and Diana,” Neal explained, as if it was obvious.

“Incredible. Even your most insane ideas have immense thought behind them,” Sara remarked. 

* * * * * * * *

They took a limo to a shopping district to make it more efficient. 

They got clothes, art, jewelry, food and drink. 

One of their breaks was at a café. Neal was wearing a diamond-studded fedora. 

“Neal, you could’ve bought any hat you could imagine; the top hat Churchill wore, in _silk_ and you chose a more expensive version of the hat you always wear,” she scoffed at him. 

“If it’s not broken, why fix it? Besides, I think it brings out my eyes,” he grinned, flipping it around, showing it off. 

“You’ll _blind_ someone wearing that outside,” Sara commented.

“I’ll buy them new eyes,” Neal joked, nonchalantly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of the London Eye,” 

“ _I..._ think that’s a little steep. Economically and geographically,” Caffrey pointed out.

“Afraid of heights?” Ellis pried. 

  
“No. US Marshals,” he stated. 

They sat and chatted for a little while longer, with Sara not getting any closer to a straight answer about the Raphael. 

“Well, I am going to the ladies room, but in the meantime, feel free to drift off, back into the past and all your crimes,” she urged, putting her brand new recording device on the table. 

“Alleged crimes. And I never should have bought you a new one,” Neal rolled his eyes.

“Well, I told you I lost the other one,” Sara shrugged. 

“Why don’t I believe you?” 

  
“Because I lied. You lie, I lie. It’s like tango,” she sashayed away. 

Neal was left with the bill, and working out how much to tip. Unfortunately, most people tip less than the price, not more. And the IRS would be curious if he tipped that much _on_ the tax. 

He just decided to go for 75%, adding a small sketch of the Mona Lisa for the hell of it. 

* * *

When Sara returned she was pleased to see that the disco hat was gone. So was her recorder. 

“I lost it,” Neal explained honestly. He’d just dropped it into a bag with his hat. 

“Most of your thefts involved finding lost treasures, I’m sure you’ll dig it up by the end of the day. My baton agrees,” she warned. “Also, while you were practising hide and seek, you missed a drink,”

Despite having been thirsty, the con-man realised she was right. He downed the last few ounces, swaying in ecstasy at the flavour.

They gathered up their bags of non-edible valuables. 

“Oh, do _you_ wanna...” Sara offered politely, pointing at the bathrooms.

“I drink just as much wine as Mozzie; I’m fine,” he waved it off. 

* * *

They were in yet another boutique when the con-man found that he wasn’t exactly fine _anymore_ . It wasn’t _too_ uncomfortable, but based on all those smoothies, he was sure it would not stay that way.

He looked around, but either this particular store did not have a bathroom, or it was very well hidden. And that was saying something coming from him.

“You see something good?” she checked, intrigued.

Neal realised he’d been zoning out. He cleared his throat, the state of his bladder even more present. 

“No, did you? Don’t forget to check the price tags, we need to properly freak Duponte out about his fortune,” he reminded her. 

“I will, once I’ve tried them on,” Sara assured him, cheerfully.

“You can get them in any size you want, Sara. We don’t know how long time we have until Duponte catches on, or moves it to a more secure account. You want your money back, you gotta get your ass in gear,” Neal urged. 

“You’re the one who said we should make this fun. And _I_ did not suggest we buy all those statues,” she pointed out.

He looked down in resignation. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Take your time. I’m gonna get some air, AC can _not_ be working right now,” he remarked, walking away. 

* * * * *

The first thing he did after getting air, was check for public restrooms. There were none in sight.

And he couldn’t run off looking for one. Sara was a _woman_ , but straight-forward and snappy. She was more efficient than he was currently able to comprehend.

Sara wasn’t able to focus, either. She _knew_ that line about stuffy air was BS. But she couldn’t come up with another explanation for his changing mood.

* * *

The first hint she got was that her companion had gotten a lot quieter. And he seemed distracted, always looking somewhere else, rather than at the beautiful things they were both picking out. 

She became the lead, taking the card from him as he gazed out of the window.

“How about we take a break?” Neal’s head turned upon hearing the suggestion. 

However, Sara, still oblivious, pointed to a park. A very small park. 

They sat down. Neal did his best to just sit still and let the breeze from the trees brush his curly locks. But his legs did not enjoy the lack of movement. 

With his hands casually and naturally rested on his knees, his legs rubbed against each other. 

Sara noticed the movement and immediately thought the worst. 

“Are we outside your radius?” she fretted. 

“No, don’t worry, I have the map in my head, we’re golden,” Neal assured her, showing her his anklet, still lighting green.

She nodded, then narrowed her eyes at him. 

“What? Do you want me to wear the glitter fedora now?” he grinned. 

Sara rolled her eyes. “I just get this feeling that you’re hiding something,” 

“I already told you, I know nothing about the whereabouts of your missing Raphael,” Caffrey reminded her. 

“Not that...forget it, it’s not important,” Ellis decided to wait it out, see if something more telling would present itself. As an insurance investigator, patience was the key.

Now it was his turn to raise a sceptical eyebrow, but let it go. 

“It’s really nice to wander around this city, don’t you think. See even more than what is visible from your balcony,” she noted, smiling.

“Mhm,” Neal hummed, distantly. He was looking around again.

“Okay, what are you looking at _now_?” the curiosity got the best of her.

“Nothing,” he answered, which was true. He was looking _for_ something.

“Come on, Neal. You’ve been in a whole other world for the last hour,” Sara pointed out.

Her statement proved true, as Caffrey was too occupied with clenching without using his hands to look as if he was listening. 

“I’m right here,” he stated. 

“No...there’s something going on with you,” she insisted.

“Nothing’s going on,” Neal crossed one leg elegantly over the other. 

He winced, shifting around his side of the wooden bench.

“Are you hurt?” Sara frowned, suddenly concerned.

One side of Caffrey’s lips twitched uncertainly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied innocently.

“You’re clearly uncomfortable, and it’s not because the air is stuffy, we’re outside,” she pointed out.

“Yes..in a park seriously lacking in _amenities_ ,” Neal agreed, muttering the last word under his breath. But Sara heard. 

He was stroking his thighs and stretched his crossed legs out. 

The penny dropped. 

“Oh...do you need to use the bathroom?” she asked casually, smiling kindly at him.

“ _Yes_ , I do..sorry, yeah,” Neal confirmed, nodding. 

“Please, you don't need to apologise, it’s simple math. Liquid plus time,” Sara assured him with a chuckle, standing up. He followed, although a bit more slowly, stepping in place subtly. 

“There’s a coffee shop over there,” she pointed. 

  
“I like _those_ odds,” he laughed. 

They walked together to the destination. Sara took the remaining bags he was holding. 

“I’ll just be a minute” Neal stated, half-running into the building. 

* * *

The man who returned was one much peppier, and more graceful than before, with the zip in his step restored.

“I’m wearing the wrong hat,” he remarked, fumbling with the bags, and pulling out the bedazzled twin of his trademark fedora, swapping the two swiftly. 

Sara rolled her eyes at him, as if to say _seriously?_

“Still cheesy?” Neal raised a questioning eyebrow, tipping the hat playfully.

“Yes,” she said confidently.

“Great, then it’ll compliment the statues perfectly,” he joked. 

Both of them laughed.

They returned to the park to call the limousine back. While they waited, Sara broke the silence with a question.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed to go _earlier_?” she asked, grabbing his arm. 

“I didn’t know if there _was_ a bathroom in any of the stores,” Neal explained. “Or where they might be.”

  
“You could’ve asked,” Sara pointed out.

“Yeah, I could..and if _you_ weren’t there, I would have,” he agreed.

She stared at him blankly. 

“I don’t know you that well, it would’ve been too awkward,” 

“I was fully aware that you had a _bladder_ before today, Neal,” she assured him. 

“I know that, Sara. I’m just not comfortable mentioning it to certain people,” Caffrey explained.

“Like who?” 

“People I’m not close to. Like Peter. He’s caught me twice, and I’ve worked with him for a long time. It was never a big deal with him. It was completely natural. But with you; I didn’t know how you’d react, when it would be a good time to bring it up, even how to phrase it,” he elaborated.

“You favour discretion,” Sara began to understand. 

“What happens behind a bathroom door is _supposed_ to be private,” Neal reasoned.

“Yes; but first, you have to _find_ the bathroom door,” she pointed out. 

  
“True,” he relented, shrugging.

Sara tugged on the back of Neal’s shiny hat.

“If you’re gonna wear that in public, at least cover all your hair,” 

“That’s how I’ve always worn it,” Caffrey adjusted the hat again.

“In the _summer_ , sure. You’re gonna catch a cold,” she complained.

“In _September?_ ” Neal raised a sceptical eyebrow, getting into the limo first.

“It doesn’t just happen in the winter, it’s whenever the seasons change, along with the _temperature_. I figured you knew enough science to know that already,” Sara quipped.

“I do. That doesn’t change the fact that I have _never_ caught a cold in September,” he informed her. 

“Do you wear a scarf when it gets below 32 degrees?” she asked.

“Or a turtleneck,” 

“Okay, that I have _got_ to see, I bet you look so handsome in a turtleneck,” Ellis inferred. 

“Careful what you wish for, they’re all made of wool,” Neal warned.

Sara guffawed, humming a rendition of _Let it snow._

“There’s definitely no snow in September,” he commented.

That set Sara off on a sequence of stories from her hometown that disproved his hypothesis...

The End.


	3. Hughes

He had been working with the White Collar division for quite some time. This moment was inevitable.

The higher-ups wanted to understand the consultant that helped the FBI so much...and so much more than previous CIs in other departments. So, when a conference happened to clash with Peter’s schedule, Hughes became Neal’s chaperone for the day. 

“Why’d you have to cut my anklet? They already _know,_ it’s why they’re so anxious to see me. Couldn’t the Marshals just adjust my radius?” Caffrey asked as they stepped into the building.

“No, because this is a secure FBI facility. The Marshals can’t get the schematics, and I’m not having you run free around this place, Caffrey,” Reese grumbled.

* * *

It was a tantalising experience for the con man. He was meeting Fed after Fed; each person was the boss of someone they’d met earlier. Bancroft seemed to be in his element, going on about comradery and how it reminded him of Quantico. Interestingly, he did _not_ learn the finger point there, so Neal texted the bad news to Peter, who replied, ‘ _You can’t see it, but I’m raising my hands and will point you back to the 21st floor for insubordination if you don’t shut up right now,_ ’

“I’m glad I can get some time alone with you, Caffrey. When you’re with Peter all I see is his consultant, nothing more,” Hughes remarked.

“Well, I’m glad you don’t see me as a _criminal_ , sir,” Neal replied softly.

“You _were_ a criminal; I care about what you _are_ now. And the name’s Reese. I’m not the President,” he instructed.

“You’d make a great president. Although, the finger point is more commanding from above,” Caffrey complimented.

“I don’t do that to be commanding, I do it ‘cause it’s rude to shout in a room full of people,” Hughes explained.

“You doing okay? I get it can be intimidating, all these people just waiting for you to screw up,”

“No, not to me. I look around, all I see are Suits. Just like Peter. Kindhearted, smart, determined, serious with a bit of by-the-book bureaucratic whimsy,” Neal stated. 

“ _Whimsy_?” 

“Well, like you’ve got the finger point, Peter wore the same suit for both my arrests, Bancroft likes contemporary art as much as I do, and Roe...well, he’s a lawyer in an FBI windbreaker,” he shrugged amusedly. “It’s a ladder of Peter Burkes, and I’m relieved to finally meet all the people behind my new leaf. Couldn’t have turned it if they’d turned down the idea,” 

“Y’know, four years goes by in a flash. This way, you get to know your bosses; should you decide to go down that path,” Hughes reminded him. 

“Freedom comes first. And you can skip the sales pitch. Peter aced that the moment I laid eyes on him,” Neal admitted.

“How so?” 

“The way he spoke to the bank manager. Calm, but assertive. Polite while striking the seriousness of the case into the conversation. They were supposed to _detain me if possible_ ,” the con man laughed. “I was right there, Peter’s cuffs were right there. Luckily for me, it got delayed by three years,”

“And by that point, we got a SWAT team. For a guy who doesn’t even like guns,” Reese noted.

“Appreciated the gesture,” Caffrey grinned. 

* * *

They were just walking along through a hallway when he felt it. Neal took a deep breath, keeping his hands perfectly still at his sides. He swallowed. This...was _not good_. He needed to use the restroom. There were just a few things in the way of that. He didn’t know where it was, so he’d have to ask Hughes. He was supposed to stay next to the man, so in order to leave, he’d have to tell Hughes. 

If there was one thing he was _never_ doing in a _million_ years, it was _telling Hughes_!

“You’re becoming awfully quiet for a professional smooth-talker,” Hughes commented.

“Mm? Oh, sorry, zoned out for a second. Guess this is getting a little repetitive,” he shrugged, tilting his head towards the many FBI Agents. 

“We can take a break. There’s a cafeteria on the first floor,” Reese decided. 

* * * * * * * * * * *

Neal chose a simple muffin and some juice, sipping the latter slowly. Once that was consumed, he began picking at the wrapper, bending over and tapping his heel under the chair.

Hughes proceeded to distract him with stories of his days at the Bureau. It turned out, a lot more of the office than he thought, was the same; with nothing more than a new paint job or two and smaller computers setting the divide.

Caffrey managed to insert himself into the conversation, alluding to crimes that his boss could never prove, nor intended to prosecute, if his noncommital hmms were anything to go by.

He was correct in this assumption, although really, Hughes was distracted by whatever was distracting his teammate.

Without thinking much of it, Neal’s eyes had begun to wander, frantically searching the exits for signs.

“Checking for US Marshals?” the ASAC suggested dryly. 

“What?” Neal cleared his throat, and plastered a smile on his face. 

Hughes raised an eyebrow. That smile was a defence mechanism. But why would he need that now?...

“They know you’re here, and _why_. Besides, why should they be scared? You’re surrounded by FBI Agents. All of which are armed,” 

“Yeah, I sort of figured,” Caffrey nodded casually, looking down. Under the table, his heels were rubbing against each other; supporting as much movement as he could _realistically_ get away with.

“So, what are you looking at, then?” Hughes questioned, narrowing his eyes at the fidgeting. It was hard to see, but there was definitively motion under the table.

“Who says I’m looking for anything?” Neal redirected. Lying to Peter would only _hurt_ Peter; lying to Peter’s boss would get him arrested.

Reese leaned back, patiently. 

“Neal George Caffrey; I have worked for the Bureau for over 25 years. I know the look of someone scanning the perimeter,” he stated.

“I’m just trying to familiarise myself with the building,” Caffrey explained. 

“I’d hope the round we did, constituted enough of a tour,” Reese noted.

“Well, not quite. There’s _one_ piece of information you didn’t impart upon me,” he stated, shifting in his seat and putting his hands on his knees. 

Hughes straightened his back and lifted his head. His eyes were wide in interest. 

Fortunately, this was a trait of his that Neal _admired_ more than feared. The man was listening. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” Neal asked, squeezing his thighs together, purely out of necessity.

Hughes did a small gasp. “Shit, Caffrey, I’m so sorry. That completely slipped my mind,”

The senior agent stood up and walked over to one of the exits, leading out of the room.

He pointed and gave Neal clear directions.

“You’re fine on your own, I’ll send one of the nice superior officers if I get concerned,” Reese nodded firmly.

Neal left, pointing at himself and then Hughes with 2 fingers, making a ‘2-minute’ gesture. The display made his boss roll his eyes. 

* * *

It wasn’t hard for Neal to find the bathroom, nor was it difficult to pee among the top brass. Trust mattered more to Neal than rank, and he trusted them, because he trusted Peter. And they were directly above him.

Caffrey finished his orange juice once he returned, now that he had the room for it. He also checked his phone for texts. Apparently Peter took his own advice.

“You look like you have something on your mind. And I know it’s not your bladder this time,” Hughes brought up. 

“It’s just...you didn’t ask, what I _expected_ you to,” Neal replied.

“Why you didn’t ask for the bathroom earlier. Caffrey, I’m your boss’ boss. I fully expected that to come with its complications. Like, not wanting to approach that _particular_ subject with me. I understand that completely,” Reese explained. 

Neal nodded, raising an eyebrow in acceptance of this reasoning.

“ _That_ face means there’s something else behind it,” Hughes noted, folding his hands on the table, brow furrowed.

Caffrey looked to the side, determined not to blush over something so trivial. 

“It’s just this thing. I’m not exactly comfortable, sharing this kind of thing with people I deem ‘strangers’. It’s not just that you’re my boss. Sure, that contributed to my resistance, but it’s also because I don’t know you all that well. You’re always sitting up in that high office of yours, occasionally yelling at Peter, who goes and yells the same thing back to _me_ ,” he remarked grinning. 

“Even if you weren’t who you were, and this was a totally different conference, there’d still be a _barrier_ keeping me from doing that,” 

“And, I wouldn’t know your full name to use to your bladder’s advantage,” Reese quipped.

“With all due respect, Reese, I’m not _9_. It was the compassionate stare,” Neal corrected.

Hughes was befuddled to hear that he had a compassionate stare. 

“Think I should use that in the office more?” he offered. 

“God no, no one would ever take you seriously,” the consultant dissuaded.

Reese smiled warmly. Apparently, being a grandparent follows you into the workplace. And the tricks work on all ages. 

He put his silenced gun on the table. 

“That serious enough for you, kid?” he grumbled.

Neal admired the weapon his chaperone had been concealing from the criminal.

“Bit too crass for my taste. And it’s Neal. Not _kid,_ ” he objected indignantly but politely, taking the dishes over to the counter.

Hughes huffed in bemusement. What an extraordinary young man he was...

The End.


	4. Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal runs in two directions; _away_ and _towards..._

Neal wasn’t sure why he’d never impersonated a soldier. He suspected his time in the scouts had something to do with it. Representing a man of more toughness and discipline than he’d ever had or could ever imitate, wasn’t his strong suit. 

He was grateful for this now, as he stepped into the Pentagon.

The welcome desk was full of buff bulky men clad in green. Caffrey looked down, suppressing a laugh. 

“Oh, please for the love of god tell me you didn’t impersonate one of ‘em,” Jones asked, worried. 

“No. Could never pull that off,” Neal assured him.

“Then what’s going on inside your head that’s so funny?” he questioned. 

“I’m just imagining if I ran away again, Peter would send these guys after me,” Caffrey smiled. 

“I should hope not, you’d keep stalling the arrest trying to decide who to hug first,” Jones quipped. 

“Oh no, that would be _you,_ definitely. You look good in white,” Neal complimented.

“Okay, dial down the GI geek-out; before I ask them if they need a hand over in accounting,” 

The CI zipped his lips and saluted. His chaperone clapped him on the shoulder kindly.

* * *

They were about halfway done with the tour, when Clinton stopped to _discuss_ the military with their high ranking host. Neal listened for a bit and then just leaned on the wall, grabbing some water. The walls were not as ventilating as you’d expect in a building of this size.

No sooner had the water been swallowed, before he was hit with a sensation. One he thought he had taken off the table earlier in the day. Namely, the need to use the restroom.

_Of all the places...it had to be here. At the goddamn Pentagon,_ he hissed silently, rubbing his temple in frustration.

He realised he was needed and marched forth, his hands in his pockets, squeezing his thighs together as he walked.

Jones narrowed his eyes at him. The con man was taking his assimilation a little far.

Then again, it didn’t exactly resemble marching, as much as merely an unusually stiff posture.

“Something bothering you?” he asked casually.

Neal debated what to say. On the one hand, he definitely didn’t know where to _go_ , so slipping the Demi-Suit a note like he did with Peter, was off the table for the time being.

Although, Jones may not know where the bathroom was either, even with his military experience. Just because he was in his element, didn’t necessarily mean he’d been there before; or for that long. And, if he could help it, Neal would prefer to keep the agent out of the loop about his bodily functions.

He looked at the stranger next to them and then at the ground. There was certainly no way to keep _him_ out of the loop...

“No,” he lied, shrugging.

Clinton focused less on the contents of his answer, and more on the way it was given. 

Caffrey had indicated the assisting officer. Whatever was wrong; and something probably was, he didn’t seem too keen on pronouncing it in the man’s presence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were led down a smaller hallway when Jones decided to employ texting. 

_Liar liar pants on fire_

Neal exhaled. The phrasing wasn’t very helpful. The fire was about to be _put out,_ if he didn’t find a way to depart soon.

He beeped back a reply; _Don’t worry, this material doesn’t burn easily._

Jones looked up from his phone to try to gather what was going on without needing Caffrey’s cooperation. But Caffrey was nowhere to be found. 

Luckily, he had found a way to depart. Through an even _smaller_ hallway.

“Caffrey! Neal George Caffrey, where the _hell_ are you?!” Jones yelled in vain. 

_Neal..._ he internally fretted.

* * *

Neal felt vaguely like James Bond sliding along walls, ducking into alcoves and corners at the slightest sight of a soldier. He supposed his nickname was growing to be quite appropriate. 

Meanwhile, his bladder’s demand for attention was growing to be quite _irritating_ , and hard to ignore. The exterior of the complex may have a simple geometric shape, but the inside was twice as hard to navigate as the Labyrinth of Greek mythology. An incredibly intricate maze. 

_Somewhat adequate as a security system_ , he reasoned. Whilst he really lacked hacking abilities at the current time. 

Every door looked the same, and there were no signs. Most likely because no one could enter without the company of a member of military personnel. And most visitors knew how to ask the aforementioned officer for directions.

It occurred to Neal that if he had received this notion just a little later, they might have been asked if they needed the restroom, and he’d be shown where it was; only needing to utter a simple yes. He bent his knees and grabbed himself, thoroughly done with his body’s antics.

He started another slow run-around, when his impudent bladder decided to ease the pressure, and let out a little bit. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Caffrey crossed his legs, to cut it off. He winced at the wetness now present in his boxers.

When he found himself able to walk again, he resumed his stiff marching stride, barrelling forward in an attempt to find Jones. He still intended not to speak up about it, but he was more than willing to _text_ it, at this point. 

Neal was panting quite unsteadily in his fervour; which turned out to be a mistake. 

He could feel the urgency in every step, a constant weight lugging on his hips.

The tickling increased, and he sighed with ambition. His resolve had not slipped away yet...but the same could not be said about his control. The reverberation through his abdomen had poked the bear. What had been a spurt a moment ago, was now a gush.

His underwear became thoroughly soaked before he crossed his legs again. Alas, this time it was not enough. More liquid pressed out through the sliver of space remaining. 

Caffrey grunted, pressing both hands as firmly as he could. The tickling was replaced by a pulsing sensation. Neal, unfortunately, knew time was running out, along with the urine.

His eyes clocked a janitor’s closet to the left and rapidly stepped towards it, not unlike a penguin. A severely pregnant or obese penguin, perhaps. 

As soon as his right foot was in the doorway immediately following his left, time officially ran out. 

He could feel the liquid hitting his trousers finally. 

“No no no no no no no no no no no no no no _no_...” Neal protested. But no amount of acrobatics could stop it. The warmth covered both thighs at the same time. So he relaxed, if only to keep the cramping afterwards to a minimum.

Even after this, the pee streamed down his legs for a long time. His face was flaming, and mouth twitching, as he refused to smile at the circumstances; no matter how good it felt. It had been _necessary_ to the point of humiliation.

* * *

The agent was armed with the navigational abilities of a soldier. Not him, rather the man he was following. They followed a precise route to the left and right of where they had lost track of Neal. The officer had to be convinced not to call in a major or even minor security breach.

Jones knew, Neal ran in two directions; away and towards. As long as ‘away’ was confined to the Pentagon, where he was surrounded by guns at every exit; the only things he could sneak out with, couldn’t be very valuable, and most likely would only be of use to him as part of an art piece. His digital perimeter was already enormous, there was nothing to be gained from increasing the physical one.

Of course, the subject of their hunt was wearing his _tracking anklet_ , which had not been disabled, merely updated.

But Jones wanted to be sure that Caffrey wanted to be found, or would allow them to find him. Neal could disappear and reappear as he wanted. And the latter was always the case. Choosing to limit his concern, he called Burke. 

“Hi! How’s Neal liking the Pentagon?” Peter asked casually.

“Too much or possibly not at all,” Clinton replied cryptically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He ran. Pretty sure he’s still in the building. I got the army rep to hold off on calling his superiors; given what we know about Caffrey,” he explained.

“We have to assume that he is up to something, but will return with a look of complete innocence,” Burke acknowledged. 

“Think I should go after him?” Jones checked. 

“The answer to that question is always yes,” Peter stated firmly. 

The app was opened, reaffirming Caffrey’s location as inside the building. The dot representing Clinton’s phone, moved along with Clinton himself. He’d also managed to convince his “partner” that he was fine on his own _and_ had his number if he needed it...

* * * * * * * * * *

The red dot and the green dot approached one another. Jones looked around, stepping slowly from side to side, until the dots were right next to each other. Or rather, one was above the other. In front of him, was a janitor’s closet.

He knew the technology wasn’t lying. Neal was inside.

“Oh, no,” he sighed. He may not have the math skills of the man behind the door, but he knew people. And there was only one reason why someone would hide in a closet. Because of something embarrassing that _can’t_ be covered up with a desk, or a textbook, or in Caffrey’s case, a fedora. The only explanation...was that he had _soiled_ _himself_. 

The glasses of water he remembered Neal drinking, thankfully indicated the lesser of two evils. Which made the reassurance efficient, and lingering trauma low. 

Jones knocked on the door. “Neal?” he called out. “Neal,” he tried again. 

He heard the consultant’s breath hitch, followed by light sniffling. 

_Poor guy_.

“Look, Neal, it’s not the end of the world,” he told him kindly.

“It’s the end of mine,” Caffrey countered, wiping away tears. _At least his shirt was dry_.

“Oh yeah, and why is that?” Jones challenged.

“I fucking _pissed_ myself, Jones!” Neal barked, distraught.

“And?” the agent remained plain in tone. 

“I’m a grown-ass man,” 

“Still not hearing a reason,” Clinton argued.

“I’m _sober_ and conscious,” Caffrey pointed out.

“Well, you also have a bladder. When it’s full, it releases. With or _without_ your permission. That’s just biology. Isn’t always pleasant. But some aspects can be altered, fixed, _improved_ . Like right now. We just get you to a bathroom, _you_ clean up, _I_ fetch you a change of clothes and then we can go back to our room and forget all about it. Sound good?” Jones assured him.

Neal had to take some time to process. The first point checked out. He definitely agreed that it wasn’t pretty. He felt highly unsophisticated, surrounded by mops which would undoubtedly be used later, to clean up his puddle. 

He took some deep breaths, swallowed the shame, and kept one thought in his head. Getting to the bathroom without being seen. He could do that. Slowly, the door opened.

“Hi,” he waved at his handler, awkwardly.

“Got it all out of you?” Jones asked in jest. “Noticed the dry patches by the seam,” the agent pointed.

Neal laughed and nodded. “I _do_ still need to go to the restroom,”

“Well, let’s find it, _together_ this time,” he grabbed Caffrey’s shoulder, nudging him forward.

Cleverly, the tracking app allows the user to look for other things besides the owner of the anklet in question. Particularly, it let the pair find the restroom on the map.

Neal went into a stall and proceeded to peel apart his suit.

“How exactly do you intend on finding clean _undies_ in a federal building?” he questioned, almost done unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You’re not the first man in this building to need that. Nor for that reason,” Jones informed him.

“Recruits get lost,” Neal assumed. 

“Oh, I’m not just talking about recruits,” he corrected. The silence indicated an invisible frown.

“What, you never had a close call?” 

Caffrey cleared his throat. “Well...” he kept his answer strictly _implicit_.

“They don’t cover that in boot camp,” Jones remarked.

“And you can’t get a degree in avoiding it. As much as I wish you could,” Neal chimed in.

“You and every other human being on the planet,”

* * *

The spare slacks weren’t the most stylish, but covered the anklet nicely. 

“You’re not gonna tell Peter about this, are you?” Neal worried. 

  
“Already did. Had to, when I was leaving you alone in the bathroom for several minutes,” Jones reminded him.

He looked sideways, uncertainly. 

“He wanted to make sure you were okay,” Clinton commented. 

  
“I’m fine. Feel much better. And not just because my bladder is empty. Because my pants are _dry_ ,” Caffrey smiled widely.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had to go, as soon as you did?” Jones had to ask.

“It felt too...awkward. Saying that to you. It’s not something I usually require help with. I know where it is, and I know that I am allowed. I just go. No one holding my hand on the way or anything,” he told him, rolling his eyes.

“You have been proven to be remarkably _independent_...when all else fails you run,” 

“Yeah, not exactly the smartest move when juggling an organ,” Neal chuckled, raising his eyebrows emphatically.

“Hey listen; you know the peace sign right?” Jones demonstrated the gesture. “What do you get if you put ‘em just a little closer together?”

“Two minutes,” Caffrey answered easily. 

“That’s right. Doesn’t always have to mean 2 minutes on the dot. Could be more, could be less...you think you can use that to let me know you’re going to the restroom?” he suggested. 

“Absolutely,” Neal agreed. 

“Good. Now, if you need directions, even if you’re not sure I can give them to you, text me. Saves you from having to say it out loud,” 

Neal agreed again. “That’ll help a lot,”

They began walking back.

“Ever been in the scouts?” Agent Jones asked curiously.

  
“Yeah, how d’you know?” Neal confirmed.

“You didn’t want to mention it in front of the officer. Thought his outfit might have something to do with it,” 

“Well, it was more the fact we had barely spoke a word to each other all morning, and not a syllable before today. But it certainly didn’t _help_ ,” Caffrey explained.

“Neither does waiting to the last minute,” Jones hinted.

“I _didn’t_. I swear, I was totally unaware of my bladder until I filled it some more,” Neal defended. 

“Right. Guess the moral of the story, is truth isn’t the only thing that wants _out_ ,” 

“Though truth is _considerably_ more patient,”

“But neither should cause humiliation,” the Demi-Suit insisted.

“What about mild embarrassment?” Caffrey bargained, adjusting his trousers.

“Suppose that’s inevitable,” Jones surrendered.

“It’s called life.”

The End.


End file.
